


Like a king bee misses honey

by heavensfallingaroundus



Category: Actor RPF, British Actor RPF, Rocketman (2019), Rocketman (2019) RPF
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-03
Updated: 2019-07-03
Packaged: 2020-06-03 02:13:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19454233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heavensfallingaroundus/pseuds/heavensfallingaroundus
Summary: Richard hates being that kind of needy boyfriend, but he just can’t help it.





	Like a king bee misses honey

Richard wakes up early.

He’s still a bit jet-lagged—it hasn’t even been four days since he's officially moved to LA, and he is notoriously bad at adapting to different time zones. Christ, he sleeps poorly for a week when daylight savings time kicks in, every single summer, so a nine-hour time change has him tied to his bed at the stupidest times of the day, and roaming around his apartment, restless and weirdly full of energy, in the earliest hours of the morning.

Hence, it’s 3AM, and he’s now wide awake.

In bed, alone.

These are the moments he misses Taron most.

During the several months they spent together on set, sparking up a breathtaking romance from thin air, spending every single waking (and sleeping) moment side by side, and generally having the best sex of both their lives, something had happened. Richard had let his clingy side take over. Taron was everywhere he looked, everything he touched, everything he thought and dreamt of every time the lights went out. It’s the instant familiarity and comfort of the whole thing—being together, that is—that got him completely hooked in a matter of weeks. And now, like a junkie without his fix, he feels empty and deprived.

Richard hates being that kind of needy boyfriend, but he just can’t help it.

So his phone is out, Taron’s face smiling at him from his screen—bright, too bright for the time of night, why does he always forget to turn on the blue light filter, and why on earth does the brightness _never_ adjust automatically.

He wants to call Taron, but his voice is croaky and, to be honest, he has a bit of a headache. He has tried knocking himself off with whisky the last couple nights. Just a couple glasses, is all. He needs to taste Scotland and remind himself it’s okay, it’s still there, his beautiful motherland with the endless green pastures and the misty hills, and he sometimes wonder why he’s let people convince him that, now he has won a Globe, he simply _needs_ to be in LA, where everyone who is anyone is.

Sometimes he just wants to fuck off to the countryside somewhere and leave the whole hogwash film industry behind him forever.

 _Hasta la_ fucking _vista_.

Except no, because it’s the only thing he knows how to do, and he’s been told, on multiple occasions in the past couple of years, he actually does it pretty well.

So LA it is. And being far away from Taron for multiple days every month. And endless yearning for his touches and small attentions and oh, _God_ , how he misses him. It's a burning sensation in the pit of his stomach, and it's so intense now he knows he definitely won't be able to sleep anytime soon.

He sits up on the bed, props himself up on the thousands of cushions he has around him, and shoots Taron a text.

_I miss your stupid face_

Brief, concise, just slightly provocative, but most of all, _euphemistical_.

He’s barely sent it when he notices Taron is already writing back, already, and thank God for iMessage for that, really.

_Do you know I’m an actor? There’s some of my stuff up on Netflix, and I’m pretty sure you have both Kingsman movies on Blu-Ray._

A wink-face emoji follows suit.

Richard types back, _You’re such a prick_ , while failing to suppress a smile.

_And you love me_

Richard sighs. Runs a hand through his hair. Such a smug little shit. It’s true, though. He does.

_And I love you_

His phone buzzes immediately after. Richard’s heartbeat speeds up, just a tad, and, fuck, he feels like a lovesick little boy.

“Hello you.”

Music is playing on Taron’s side, close enough to the phone that Richard can hear it clearly. It takes him a few beats to recognise the melody, but when he does, he wants to laugh and cry at the same time.

_Lately, I’ve been thinking_

_How much I miss my lady_

_Amoreena’s in the corn field_

_Brightening in the daybreak_

Taron is serenading him, singing over Elton’s voice. Clear, beautiful, somehow heart-wrenching. Yes, Richard is into deep. He can’t suppress a sigh.

“Oh, T..”

Taron ignores him, and finishes the verse, because what else can he do, he’s Welsh and he’s a born performer.

_Living like a lusty flower_

_Running through the grass for hours_

_Rolling through the hay, oh,_

_Like a puppy child_

Richard can’t help but think how much better Taron’s voice sounds on this particular song than Elton’s. Blasphemous as the thought can be, he just likes how less whiny (God help him, he’s _definitely_ going to hell for that one) Taron sounds, yet still perfectly delivers how much the yearning for his own Amoreena is consuming him.

“Is this yer adorable, twisted way to tell me ye miss me too, ye big blasted diva?”

Taron breaks character at this. Richard hoped he would—there was no way Taron could keep up a phone serenade for three minutes straight. Might challenge him to do that, one day, though.

“Oh, _like a king bee misses honey_ ,” Taron declares, chuckling softly and probably patting himself on the back for that one. It is, admittedly, very fucking good.

“You’re such a giant fool, and I love you.”

“Now, Richard, is this a way to call your lovely, thoughtful boyfriend, who’s up so late to serenade you in the middle of the night?”

This takes a while to register, because, after all, it _is_ 3 AM.

Except it’s not supposed to be, not for Taron, at least.

“Wait, isn’t it, like... past 12 PM back home?”

Richard is confused. Very confused.

“Oh, yeah, might be, actually. You should try asking them. Text Jamie or something. And, while you’re at it, be a love and come open your front door.”

This registers very quickly, and yet Richard’s face—he can see it in the mirror he has right in front of his bed, goes through multiple emotions at a time. Perplexity, understanding, and just pure giddy happiness by the end.

“Oh, no, you didn’t,” he hears himself say, climbing out of bed as quickly as he can, and thank God it’s chilly at night and already has pyjama bottoms on, because although it is very late and opening the door in his birthday suit probably is _very_ Beverly Hills, his genitals are definitely not something he wants plastered all over tomorrow’s tabloids. Paps, after all, never sleep.

“Oh, yes, I did.”

Richard can _hear_ Taron smirk.

He takes the last few steps towards the door, just narrowly avoids his phone hitting the hard wooden floor while fumbling to open the locks, and then Taron is in arms in a whirlwind blast of cold spring air, sweet cologne and fabric softener.

They kiss quickly, eagerly, and Richard finds himself regretting not having brushed his teeth, because he sure as hell smells death itself right now.

Taron doesn’t seem to mind, however, judging by the way he pushes Richard against the front door and starts running his hands on his bare chest, longingly, meticulously, caressing every inch of it with while kissing him.

Richard grabs each side of Taron’s head to deepen the kiss, and Taron’s lips are impossibly soft against his slightly chapped ones, and he tastes a bit like cigarette smoke and milk chocolate. And, Jesus, Richard is gasping for him even more now.

Taron’s bag hits the floor with a thud, and the noise snaps them out of their lovestruck snogging session.

Taron is smiling up at him now, a wicked grin, so proud of himself he looks like he’s about to burst.

“Oh, go on, say it.”

Richard sniggers at that. _Predictable_. And he loves it.

“I love you.” Richard obliges. “You’re a madman. Quite literally a _Ma_ _dman_ _A_ _cross_ _the Water_ , right now.”

He’s so proud of his pun, it positively kills him when Taron retorts “It’s from _Tumbleweed Connection_ , actually.”

“Oh, piss off, will you not.”

“Gladly. Bedroom?”

“Aye. Immediately. Ye’ve got _way_ too many clothes on. Time to do something about that.”

Eager as they are, it’s only a matter of seconds before they get to the bedroom.

Two or three steps shy of the bed, Taron abruptly stops walking, turns on his heels and bites down on his lower lip. Richard crashes into him—he wasn’t expecting Taron’s purposeful stride to halt so suddenly. He resolves to just go with what feels natural, then, and holds Taron, tightly, while inhaling his sweet scent once again.

 _Perfect_.

Taron rests his head on his shoulder and proceeds to squeeze him a little tighter still.

“Oh, I missed you, Amoreena," he murmurs, against Richard’s skin.

Richard plants a soft kiss on his forehead.

“Knew it.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is a little fluffy number I've been thinking of for days on end, and it finally materialised tonight.  
> I wrote it all in one go, re-read it only once, and I'm sure it's a bit crap, so I apologize profusely in advance.  
> They just won't leave my mind these days.


End file.
